If Ever Your World Comes Crashing Down
by Delylah
Summary: Building a new life from the ashes of your old one is never easy. Bass and Charlie flee to Mexico after losing everything but each other in the fight against the Patriots. Rating may change later.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: **This story is a response to a prompt for AvaRosier's "Revolution Redux" fest on Livejournal. The prompt: Bass and Charlie are the last ones standing. Bass finds out Charlie is pregnant with Connor's child. Just think it'd be interesting to see how he'd act in that situation.

All I'm going to say here is that this wound up being much, much longer than I envisioned when I signed up for this prompt. I have more written, I just didn't want to post the whole thing all at once. More tomorrow.

* * *

_All dead. They're all dead._

_Aaron. Gene. Rachel. Miles. Connor._

One by one he'd seen them fall, and now his dreams lay in the ashes of a city laid waste to by the Patriots.

Bass couldn't move; he could only kneel next to the body of his son and watch as the city burned around him. He should have known better; everything he touched went to hell, eventually. He contemplated his pistol and wondered what was keeping him from placing it in his mouth and pulling the trigger.

_The girl. Have to save the girl. Promised him I'd save the girl._

Bass kissed his son's forehead before closing his eyes with his palm. The boy deserved a decent burial, but he didn't have time. He couldn't carry them both, and the fires that were decimating Austin would likely envelop his son's corpse long before it could be desecrated by animals or the remaining enemy. He unclasped Charlie's fingers from Connor's, gathered her unconscious form and hefted her in his arms. He couldn't help feeling a certain sense of deja vu. They'd come full circle now, he and she. He stumbled over something in the darkness, nearly pitching forward onto the crumbling asphalt, barely recoiling when he realized the obstacle was another of the Patriot's child soldiers, eyes wide and staring, torn chest a grisly mess of ground up flesh and bone.

_Idiot. Should have known the "gift" was really a Trojan Horse. You've lost your touch._

His fingers clenched in anger as he recalled the massacre he'd led his friends into. Charlie whimpered, her face twisting into an unconscious grimace of pain. The back of her head bore a knot the size of a ping pong ball; her face was nearly unrecognizable beneath the layer of blood and soot, not to mention the gash that split open one of her cheeks. The worst, however, was the gunshot wound in her shoulder. He would have to stop somewhere soon, dig out the bullet and bind the wound before she lost too much blood. But not until they'd left Austin behind them.

When he discovered a horse that had obviously lost its rider wandering the streets by itself , he nearly wept in relief, amazed that it hadn't panicked and bolted. He grabbed the reins and hoisted Charlie over the front of the saddle before climbing up behind her, then he chirruped to the horse and guided it south. There was nothing left for them here, now.

* * *

Charlie was roused to consciousness by the sound of screaming and the sensation of searing pain in her shoulder and a crushing weight on her chest. It took her a moment to realize the screaming sounds were her own.

"Dammit, Charlie, hold still, I've almost got this," said a man in a gruff voice. The pain in her shoulder grew worse, and Charlie realized the weight on her chest was a person.

_Monroe. Monroe is on top of me. What the fuck?_

Charlie thrashed beneath him, too weak to do more than buck once or twice. He was straddling her, restraining both her arms with his knees. When she twisted her head down to peer at her shoulder, she realized the source of the unbearable pain was the knife with which he was digging into her flesh. She'd always known he would kill her someday, but she'd always thought she would have a chance of taking him down with her.

"I'm not trying to kill you, Charlotte. You were shot."

She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud. She peered up at him in confusion, trying to sort her muddled thoughts. The last thing she remembered was leaving Willoughby, marching with Connor and Miles.

"Austin?" she rasped. "What happened?"

Bass stopped digging into her shoulder long enough to focus on her face instead.

"It was a trap. They were waiting for us. But Truman is dead; I took care of that bastard myself. So is the traitor that led us there, along with most of the Patriot troops."

Charlie digested this information, distracted by the throbbing in her shoulder. Her head ached as well, and a swath across her cheek itched like mad. Unfortunately she couldn't bring her hand up to scratch at it, as Monroe's knees were pinning her arms to the table.

"Monroe, get off of me," she demanded. "I can't breathe."

He huffed in exasperation but did as she asked. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief and attempted to rub some feeling back into her arms, which had gone numb beneath his weight. She reached up to scratch her cheek but Monroe batted her hand away.

"Don't scratch. You'll get it infected." He rifled through her pack for a moment before reaching for Charlie's leather jacket. "Here," he said, offering her the sleeve. "You're going to need this."

She nodded in understanding, but stopped him with a hand against his chest when he leaned over her shoulder with the knife. Wordlessly, he looked over at her. Judging by the hard, dead look in his eyes, she could guess the answer to her next question, but she had to ask anyway.

"Miles. Mom. And Grandpa. Are they…." She trailed off, unable to voice the words.

"Gone. Connor, too. We're all that's left." His tone of voice matched his eyes, devoid of expression on the surface, but simmering with rage deep where no one could reach.

Charlie nodded again, tears slowly leaking from the corners of her eyes. She stuffed the cuff of her jacket into her mouth and bit down to stifle her screams as Monroe began to dig into her shoulder once more. Fortunately, she passed out again a few moments later.

When she woke the second time, her shoulder was bound with what appeared to be strips of cloth from an old, faded sheet. Monroe had obviously applied some salve to her cheek as well; it no longer itched. But he was nowhere to be found. She suspected he had abandoned her. The house was dark and quiet; she had no idea where she was. She'd lost everything, except Monroe, and now it appeared she had lost him, too. The walls began to close in on her, darkness weighing heavily on her eyelids. Her vision began to blur until the room was a swirl of different shades of gray. Panting and whimpering, she rolled off of the table and knelt on the floor in hopes of counteracting the spinning sensation that was making her head swim.

"Hey. Hey. Charlie!"

Monroe was shaking her shoulder, the one that wasn't bound, but she couldn't think straight. She just knew she had to get out. She would die if she didn't, crushed between the walls. She started crawling for the door, but Monroe scooped her up and carried her out to the front porch, where he set her gently on her feet. She clung to one of the support posts, gulping in deep breaths of air until the spinning sensation gradually stopped and her heart no longer felt it would explode from her chest. She ducked her head, unwilling to face the mockery she knew must be all over Monroe's face. She was shocked when he spoke in a gentle voice.

"You okay?" he asked, taking a step forward to place a hand on her shoulder.

She reached up and clasped his hand in hers, grateful for the moment that she wasn't alone in the world, and allowed him to guide her over to the porch steps, where they sat. The warmth of his side pressed against hers was comforting, and even though on some level she knew it was strange to be holding his hand, she couldn't bring herself to let go. Off in the distance to the north she could see an orange glow on the horizon.

"What is that?" she croaked, pointing. "It looks like something's on fire."

"That's Austin," he replied grimly. "And it is on fire." He looked over at her then, wincing as he took in her appearance. "You should get some rest. We need to put some more distance between us and the city tomorrow. We'll leave at first light."

When she nodded, he pulled her to her feet and ushered her back inside. The front room was still furnished with a sofa and a loveseat, both upholstered in a scratchy plaid. The upholstery was dusty and had been chewed on by mice or rats in places, but otherwise the sofas were in good condition. The house must not have been abandoned for very long. Charlie collapsed heavily onto the loveseat, tipping her body sideways until her head hit the armrest. She tucked her feet up, pulling her knees inward until she was almost in a fetal position. She expected Monroe to tug his hand out of hers and find somewhere else to sleep, but instead he sat on the floor in front of her and leaned his head back against the cushion, her arm slung over his shoulder.

"Why didn't you just leave me there?" she asked sometime later.

She'd been quiet for so long he'd thought she'd fallen asleep. He didn't answer her at first. What was he supposed to tell her? That he thought about eating his gun, but he couldn't bring himself to do it as long as she was still breathing? That for a nanosecond he _had_ considered leaving her, but as usual he was incapable of actually doing it? At last he settled for part of the truth.

"He asked me to take care of you. Maybe you didn't feel much for him, Charlotte, but I think he loved you." _And he told me I loved you, too,_ he thought, remembering his son's last words. When she sniffled quietly, he thought perhaps he was wrong. Maybe she had felt something for Connor, after all. The thought that the boy hadn't loved her in vain gave him some comfort, but not much.

He sat with her until he thought his arm would fall off from holding it bent at the elbow with her hand in his. When she finally began snoring lightly, he eased his hand out of hers and got up to retrieve the sheets he'd found earlier, still stashed in the linen closet. He covered Charlie with one and kept the other for himself, stretching out on the sofa so he'd be close at hand in case she had another panic attack.

He woke her shortly after dawn and helped her to her feet, careful not to jostle her left shoulder.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Mexico."

* * *

They traded the horse for a small sack of diamonds outside of San Antonio. Bass probably could have haggled for a better price, but he spotted several people in khaki uniforms and didn't want to hang around any longer than necessary. He hated to let the horse go, but they couldn't afford to feed it, and he and Charlie were perfectly capable of walking. Also, he suspected they would need the diamonds once they reached the border. They traveled under the names of Charlie Bennett and Jimmy King, picking up odd jobs whenever and wherever they could in exchange for food or a place to sleep, sometimes even a diamond or two. It amused him that she refused to call him Jimmy.

"Jimmy King is a dumb name," she groused. "I'm not calling you that."

"It was my grandfather's name," he replied, shooting her an irritated glance. "My middle name is James."

"Oh." She thought about it for a moment. "I can call you James. Not Jimmy."

"For Christ's sake, what difference does it make?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know. You just don't look like a Jimmy." She poked at their campfire with a stick, shifting the logs so that the embers fell into the coals and flames licked at the newly exposed wood.

It took them a week and a half to reach the border. He hoped they wouldn't have any problems getting into Mexico. There were always farmers looking for help picking crops, but Charlie's arm wasn't completely healed yet. He was afraid she wouldn't be chosen; he didn't know what he would do if that happened. When they arrived at the checkpoint just after sunrise, several wagons were there, along with a crowd of people. Charlie glanced at him, her brows furrowed with worry.

"Come on," he urged, and pulled her along behind him until they were close to the front of the group. He whistled at one of the foremen who was standing in the front of a wagon, calling for day laborers.

"Hey, man, I could really use a job," he said, schooling his features into a friendly smile. "I'm no stranger to hard work. You won't be sorry."

The foreman looked up him and down. "You'll do. But just you. I don't have any use for her," he said, gesturing at Charlie.

Charlie started to pull away but Bass grasped her hand firmly. He'd promised Connor; he wasn't about to go back on his word now that they were so close to safety. He tugged her closer to him and slipped his arm around her waist.

"Come on, man, give me a break. She's my wife, and she's pregnant. I can't just leave her here by herself," he pleaded.

Charlie stiffened in his embrace but he tightened his hold on her and hugged her to him, hoping she had the sense to play along. After a moment she relaxed slightly and flashed a shy smile at the foreman. "We could really use the money, mister," she said, covering her stomach protectively with one hand as she slipped the other around Bass's waist. Then she tipped her face up to him to smile lovingly at him, as if they were the newlyweds Bass claimed they were, before turning back to the foreman. "I'm only a couple of months along; I can work just as hard as any of these guys, honest."

Behind the foreman, an older woman cleared her throat. "Javi, bring the girl, too," she said, smiling kindly at Charlie as she held out a hand to help her into the wagon. The foreman grumbled under his breath, but he shrugged at Bass and pointed his thumb toward the back of the wagon. He quickly selected several more men and ten minutes later, they were underway. Bass breathed a sigh of relief. With enough diamonds placed in the hands of the right people, he didn't think it would be hard to get the necessary papers to stay.

He glanced at Charlie, prepared to give her a smirk and say "I told you so." But her face was pale, and she glanced back at him nervously. "What's gotten into you?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing," she said and looked away, her gaze flitting away from him to the wall behind them growing gradually smaller as they rolled along.

In the front seat, the woman who had spoken up for them turned and reached her hand out to Charlie. "I'm Linda," she said. "Welcome to Mexico."

The wagon trundled along for an hour before they came to a driveway that led to a cluster of silos, barns and sheds. Bass could see there was a small settlement off in the distance between which there was nothing but open fields.

"Today we're picking strawberries. Everybody off."

Charlie's village had been fortunate enough to raise small patches of strawberries in the springtime. She cringed at the thought of spending the day bent over plucking berries, but she knew they were lucky to find the work.

"This way," Linda said, gesturing for them to follow. She led them to one of the barns, where each laborer was issued a small rolling cart and pointed in the direction of the field they were to work.

"Stick as close as you can," Bass said. She nodded and started on the next row over. By noon her arms and shoulders were aching and her fingertips were sore from handling the plants and the straw that protected them. Somewhere nearby a horn sounded, and the workers began moving out of the field back to the barn they'd started at. Charlie turned her cart in and followed the rest of the group to an open area with rough, wooden picnic tables. Bass caught up to her and found a place for them to sit.

"Got any jerky left?" he asked. Charlie divvied up the rest of their supply between them and they ate in silence. When Bass was finished, he reached for her canteen and carried it to a nearby well pump to refill it. When she drained most of it he refilled it again.

"Thanks," she muttered when he returned.

"Sure." He sat and took a long swallow from his own canteen and then dumped the rest of it over his head. "Nothing like a little manual labor to make you long for the glory days of the Republic," he said.

"You, maybe, not me. Anyway, this beats starving," Charlie retorted.

They worked until almost sunset, and Charlie was about to drop from exhaustion when she turned her cart in for the last time.

"If you're going back, the wagon is leaving in ten minutes," Linda said.

"If?" Charlie asked.

"We need workers here for at least the rest of this week. You'll need to fill out worker permits in the office."

"We're staying," Bass said.

"Good," Linda said, smiling at Charlie. "Keep the cards with you. You'll need them if you go into town. You can sleep in one of the bunkhouses and an evening meal is provided, but they'll be taken out of your pay. Otherwise, you can set up a tent in the worker camp."

They stopped by the office to fill out the worker cards and collect their pay. Charlie was thrilled to see there was a truck set up nearby serving hot food. She and Bass were out of supplies, and they were both too tired to worry about finding any that night. They gorged themselves on tortillas stuffed with beef and peppers, and Charlie splurged on fresh strawberries. The last thing they did was purchase a tent at the general store located next to the office. They hadn't bothered with one while they were traveling because it was too much trouble to set up each night, but the bunk houses were designated for women or for men. As many issues as Charlie had with Bass, he had never tried to hurt her, in fact just the opposite. She had to admit she felt safer when he was around. They set up the tent together and then crawled in and unrolled their bedrolls. Charlie collapsed face-down onto hers with a groan and closed her eyes.

"I think I'm going to die now," she whimpered. Her arms and legs felt like jelly and the muscles in her back were screaming.

"You're going to regret that in the morning," Bass warned.

"Regret what?" she asked.

"Falling asleep without doing anything to loosen your muscles. By morning, you won't be able to move."

"What am I supposed to do about it?" Charlie demanded. "I already can't move."

Bass didn't say anything, but after a moment she felt his hands on her shoulders. When she flinched violently, he jerked them away again with a heavy sigh.

"Really?" he said in disbelief. "Charlotte, have I done anything to make you think I'm going to jump you as soon as I get the chance?"

"No," she said after a long moment. "It was just a reflex. I'm not used to being touched. Go ahead."

He placed his hands on her shoulders again and began to work the muscles there with his fingers, pressing firmly wherever he felt a knot. He froze when Charlie groaned obscenely.

"Oh, God, that feels so good."

He inhaled sharply, wondering if she had any idea that she sounded like a woman in the middle of the best fuck she'd ever had.

"Please don't stop."

He gritted his teeth and continued, working the muscles around her shoulder blades next. Then his hands travelled slowly down the sides of her spine to her lower back, easing knots along the way to the accompaniment of Charlie's moans, which finally dwindled to occasional mewls of contented pleasure. He stopped when he reached the waistband of her jeans and lifted his hands away.

"Thank you," Charlie mumbled. "I had no idea I was already that stiff. Do you want me to do you?"

_Thanks to you, so am I, and yes, I do,_ he thought. If she were any other woman, he'd probably laugh, roll her over, and illustrate the double meaning of both her statement and her question. But he could think of a wealth of reasons why that was a bad idea, the chief one being she'd likely slit his throat with his own sword. Instead settled for a simple, "No," though perhaps said more sharply than he intended.

"But you said-"

"Working in a field is no worse than boxing or battle. I'll be fine. Go to sleep, Charlie," he grumbled.

He thanked whatever deity was still looking upon him favorably when she didn't argue, at least until she began snoring lightly a few minutes later.

It was going to be a long night.


	2. Chapter 2

They worked in the strawberry fields for the rest of the week. Bass had worried at first that Charlie might not be able to keep up; she was no stranger to hard work, but she'd never been exposed to all-day manual labor. He'd been pleasantly surprised by her determination. She would never be one of the fastest workers in the fields, but she worked steadily enough that the foreman didn't chastise her when she turned her carts in. They both pocketed enough silver coins at the end of the day to pay for their daily needs and begin saving a small stash as well. At the end of the week, Linda approached them about their plans when they collected their pay.

"Are you looking to stay on?" she asked.

Charlie glanced cautiously at Bass, and he read her meaning effortlessly, but he wasn't sure how to let Linda know what they wanted without making themselves look suspicious.

"We were looking to travel a little further south," he said finally, glancing back at Linda in time to catch her knowing look. He just hoped she thought they were looking for a safe haven due to Charlie's "pregnancy" rather than that they were fugitives from trouble.

"Javi is taking a group of workers to the next town tomorrow," she said in a kind voice. "I think they can squeeze a couple more into the wagons." She scribbled something onto the back of Charlie's worker card and handed it back to her. "Take your card to the hotel in Flor Dulce at that address. Ask for Rosa."

"Why?" Charlie asked. She flinched when Bass elbowed her, but Linda didn't seem to notice.

"She may have work for you to do at the hotel."

Charlie shrugged and pocketed the card. "Okay. Thanks."

The next morning they broke camp at dawn.

"We could probably walk to Flor Dulce and get there just as quickly as that wagon will," Bass commented.

"We could, but they offered the ride; we might as well take them up on it." Charlie replied.

He guessed she just didn't want to say that she was too tired to walk for two days. His suspicions were confirmed when, after they'd been rolling for a couple of hours, her head began nodding. He smirked as he watched her chin bounce against her chest several times before he took pity on her and placed his arm across the side of the wagon behind her shoulders. He pulled her against him to offer his shoulder as a pillow. He was pleased when, for once, her shoulders didn't climb to her ears when he touched her, but that was just because it would look strange for a man's wife to flinch every time he touched her. At least, that's what he told himself.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"Don't mention it," he said drily. "But don't get used to it, either."

She jabbed him in the side with her elbow before she dozed off, leaving him to gaze out at the unchanging scenery: dirt, scrub, the occasional critter, and more fucking dirt. Occasionally they crossed a creek or river and the terrain would green up a bit. The next day passed in much the same way, with Charlie napping a large portion of the way, even though she had slept soundly the night before. When they reached Flor Dulce that evening, they found the hotel Linda had mentioned without a problem - it was the only one in the small town. It also served as the town's only restaurant and bar.

"Hola," the woman at the bar said without looking at them when they entered. When Charlie returned her greeting, she glanced up, as if surprised. "Oh. Can I help you? Do the two of you need a room?"

Charlie walked over and handed her the card. "Hi, are you Rosa?" When the woman nodded, she continued, "Linda said you might have work for me."

The woman raised her brows in a speculative expression. "Strange, usually the workers she sends down here just report straight to the fields."

"Um, I'm a little pregnant," Charlie said, feeling her face heat up under the woman's scrutiny, especially when she laughed.

"There's no such thing as a little pregnant," she said, smiling kindly. "It just so happens one of my housekeepers quit the other day. It's hard work, but at least it's indoors out of the sun. If you want it, the job is yours; you can start tomorrow."

"I'll take it, thank you," Charlie said.

"Is that your man?" Rosa asked, gesturing at Bass.

Charlie, blushing profusely now, couldn't make herself answer, and looked over to Bass. She was ready to kill him for inventing this charade in the first place. Bass noticed her discomfort and grinned wickedly, snaking his arm around her waist to pull her close enough to his side that their hips touched before finally answering Rosa's question.

"You better believe it," he said. "I'm James King, and this is my wife, Charlie Bennett." When Rosa frowned at their names, Bass reached across to splay his other hand over Charlie's bare stomach. "She's still a little upset about our impending bundle of joy so she refused to take my name after the ceremony," he said with a wink toward Rosa. Then he leaned over and pressed a firm kiss to Charlie's temple, and allowed his hand to drift down from her waist to cup her ass. Charlie's eyes flew open wide as she inhaled sharply and reached down to grasp his hand with her own and pinched it hard before placing it firmly at her waist.

"James, honey, you're embarrassing me," she said in a sweet voice that she hoped didn't sound hopelessly fake.

"I can't help it, sweetheart," he replied in a seductive tone, struggling to cover his mirth. "You make it so easy."

Rosa just chuckled at them. "Newlyweds?" she asked.

"Yes ma'am, going on two weeks, now," Bass answered. "Just can't keep my hands off her. Guess that's why we're in this little pickle," he added, laying on the charm. When Charlie buried her pink cheeks in her hands, it was all he could do not to fall on the floor laughing. He knew he'd pay for it later, but it would be worth it.

"I might have work for you, too," Rosa said. "Have you ever tended bar?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, continuing his charade as a friendly Texan transplant. Charlie wondered when he'd ever been a bartender; it wasn't something she could picture General Sebastian Monroe doing.

"Good, you're both hired," Rosa said, sounding pleased. "You can start tomorrow; the restaurant opens at noon and stays open until ten each evening, except Sundays." She gestured to the room around her. "As you can see, the restaurant and bar are closed on Sunday evenings. If you need a place to stay, I can even rent you a room on a weekly basis."

"Uh, actually-" Charlie began, but Bass quickly interrupted before she could request a second room.

"We'll take it," he said, with a pointed glance at Charlie warning her not to argue.

Rosa gave them two keys to one of the rooms on the second floor and bid them goodnight after Bass paid for their first night out of their small stash of silver coins. The room was small but clean, furnished with a king-sized bed, a dresser with a pitcher and wash basin, a small, round table and two chairs, plus a small sofa. As soon as Bass had closed the door behind him, Charlie fixed him with a cold glare.

"The next time you grab my ass like that, you'll be full of holes so fast you won't know what hit you," she promised.

"Relax, Charlotte. I was just trying to sell the story," he said. " Don't you think it would look a little weird for a newly-married couple with a baby on the way to avoid each other like the plague?"

"Then maybe you shouldn't have concocted that stupid story in the first place!" Charlie hissed.

Bass narrowed his eyes at her. "Would you rather have stayed in Texas alone?"

Charlie's anger began to dissolve as quickly as it had flared to life. As insane as it sounded, Bass was the closest thing to family she had left, the only person in the world with a connection to her parents and her uncle. "No," she said in a husky voice. After swallowing hard, she added, "Thank you for getting him to take me, too."

He appeared pleasantly surprised by her expression of gratitude. "You're welcome," he said. "I'm sorry for grabbing your ass. But you should have seen the look on your face," he added with unconcealed glee, ducking when she fired a pillow at him. "Okay, okay, I get it. But really, Rosa will start to get suspicious if you make it look like you can't stand to touch me with a ten-foot pole. And a married woman is usually safer from unwanted attention these days than one who is single."

"Fine. I can live with you putting your arm around me. Just don't grab my ass anymore," she grumbled.

"Yes ma'am," he drawled in the same affected Texan accent he'd used on Rosa. "One more thing, you're going to have to get used to calling me James. You hesitated down there."

"I'll work on it," she said, attempting to walk around him to start putting her things away in the dresser. He stopped her with a gentle grasp on her arm.

"I mean it, Charlie," he said in a low voice. "You know what happened last time I was here. Connor's boss knew good and well who I was. Unless you're that eager to see me hang, don't call me Bass anymore, even when we're alone."

"I won't," she promised. He let her go, but as she walked toward the dresser, she glanced over her shoulder with one eyebrow raised and added in a warning tone, "Unless you grab my ass in front of someone again."

He laughed. "Fair enough."

After she had finished unpacking, Charlie stretched and gave an enormous yawn.

"I'm exhausted," she said. "I never thought riding around in a wagon all day would be that tiring. I'm going to bed."

"I'm going to find something to eat," Bass said, unable to stand the thought of being cooped up after sitting in a wagon for past two days. "Want me to bring you something?"

"No thanks. I'm not really hungry; I'd rather just sleep," she said as she stretched out on the mattress with a contented groan. "It's been, what, a month since I had a real bed to sleep in?"

"All right. Just don't blame me when you wake up in the middle of the night hungry enough to gnaw your own arm off," Bass said. He rinsed his face and hands with water from the pitcher on the dresser. Then he fished one of the keys out of his pocket and placed it on the dresser in case she changed her mind. He paused at the door to look back, just to make sure she wasn't having second thoughts. She appeared to be already asleep; which had him a little concerned. He hoped she wasn't coming down with something.

After he had supper at the restaurant, he chatted with Rosa for a few minutes before he went for a walk around the small town by himself, exploring. It wasn't much different from Willoughby. There were a couple of shops but most trade seemed to be conducted in an open-air market, and the main part of town was surrounded by a tall fence with a gate. There was a river nearby, and agriculture in the area was obviously thriving. He just hoped they were well out of Nunez's territory.

Charlie didn't stir when he crept back into the hotel room shortly before midnight. He glanced at the bed longingly. They'd been traveling together for three weeks, and for the past week they'd shared a small tent. Still, he didn't relish the thought of waking up in the middle of the night and discovering she had aerated vital parts of his body with her knife for assuming she wouldn't mind sharing the bed. _From now on we're alternating, whether she likes it or not,_ he thought.

He made himself as comfortable on the sofa as possible, which wasn't easy. The cushions weren't much softer than the ground and the thing was upholstered in the scratchiest fabric it had ever been his displeasure to come in contact with. The only saving grace was that a breeze wafted in from the open window, counteracting the stuffiness of the room. Finally, with the help of his flask, he managed to doze off.

When Bass awoke, it was still dark outside. He was disoriented for a moment, confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. He sat up and glanced around, searching for Charlie. When he spied her curled up on the bed, he remembered they had rented a room from Rosa, and he had opted to sleep on the couch. He watched her for a moment and realized she was murmuring something in her sleep.

"Stop. Stop."

As he watched, her hands fluttered to her throat, and she began clawing at it.

"Stop. Please, stop," she said. Her voice and breathing sounded choked and frantic now, as if invisible hands were choking her. Bass rose up from the sofa and approached the bed, sitting at the edge.

"Charlie?" he said quietly, hoping she'd calm without him having to wake her. Instead, she thrashed from side to side, still caught in her nightmare.

"This isn't you," she said, sharply at first, then again, pleading, "Please, this isn't you."

"Charlie?" Bass called again, louder this time, but his words still didn't penetrate whatever horrific vision she was trapped inside of.

"Stay back. Stay back; stay back!" she chanted, panting now.

Bass was certain he knew what she was dreaming about, and he couldn't let her reach the conclusion. He reached out and firmly shook her shoulder as he called her name once more. At the same time she cried, "I'm begging you, please!"

Then she bolted upright with a gasp, glancing around wildly, her terror-filled eyes brimming with tears. When her gaze landed on Bass, he spoke softly.

"Hey, that's all over now. You're safe here; it's over."

When she shook her head no, a few tears spilled over, despite her obvious efforts to hold them back, so she wiped them away angrily. He couldn't help but reach out and pull her into his arms, where she let out a few choked sobs against his shoulder as she clutched desperately at his sides.

"It only gets worse if you don't let it out, Charlie. I ought to know," he murmured into her hair. Unconsciously, he began to rub her back in soothing circles.

"How do you know?" she asked, her voice muffled by his shirt.

"Miles ever tell you I was married once?" he asked, shifting backward so he could lean against the pillows piled against the headboard, pulling her with him.

She shook her head no against his chest and asked, "When?"

"A few years after the blackout. We didn't have any way to make it official, but as far as I was concerned, she was my wife. I would have done anything for her."

Charlie's fingers tightened, curling into the fabric of his shirt. "What happened?"

Bass closed his eyes. He was starting to regret opening this topic of conversation. It was one he had never discussed with anyone but Miles, and their discussion of it was limited to his sobbing on his best friend's shoulder, his hands covered in Shelly's blood. Even now, thinking about it made a small, hard knot of suppressed pain somewhere inside of him swell and ache.

"She died in my arms," he said at last. As a distraction from the memory, and just to see what she'd do, he lifted his hand and stroked her hair once,. When she didn't protest, he combed his fingers through it, gently untangling the strands as he went. She inhaled a shuddering breath, then exhaled with a long sigh, the last remnants of her sobs, he hoped.

"How did she die?" she asked.

"Insufficient medical care," was his terse reply.

He knew that wasn't the answer she was looking for, but it was the only answer he could give at the moment. He breathed a sigh of relief when she accepted that answer without further questions, but there was one more thing he wanted to tell her.

"Afterward," he said with a bitter laugh, "that's when I started the long, slow descent into hell. I guess you could say her death was the birth of the Republic."

He opened his eyes and looked down, startled by the picture they made: one hand was in her hair, his arms were wrapped securely around her, and their legs were stretched out together. It wasn't that he'd never pictured getting close to her. Hell, he'd imagined fucking her twelve ways to Sunday. The reason it had irked him so much when she'd fucked Connor was that he suspected she'd done it because she'd known he wanted her. It was her twisted way of letting him know he'd never have her, that even another Monroe was a better choice than him.

But this...he'd never pictured this, never imagined he'd come to care for her. He could tell himself it was because of Miles or Connor, because they'd cared for her, and taking care of her was his way of honoring their memory. But he knew better. She'd probably give him hell for daring to touch her in the morning, but he was willing to accept the consequences. Just holding her seemed to loosen that cold, hard knot inside a little.

"Charlotte, I know you think I'm a monster. I'm not saying that I'm not. But I'm also a man who had to choose too many times between bad and worse, us or them. After a while, it takes a toll." He paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "And when there are people in your life you would do anything for, sometimes you find yourself doing things you never thought you'd do just to make sure they keep breathing." He glanced down at her then, and remembered her nightmare - killing her first love to save her own life. So he added, "Or to make sure that you do."

When she didn't reply, he thought she must have fallen asleep, so he shifted her away until she was lying on the bed instead of him. When he rose to return to the sofa, she reached out and and caught his wrist. He looked back and saw she was watching him warily.

After a moment, her eyes flicked away toward the wall. But then, in a voice that was barely audible, she said, "Stay."

The way his heart stuttered in his chest at such a simple request made him feel like an idiot. Still, he had to ask, "Why?"

She looked at him then with a wan smile. "Sometimes it takes a monster to keep the rest of the monsters away."

He couldn't argue with that. He stretched out on top of the bedspread, hands clasped behind his head, and kept the monsters at bay until her breathing evened out. It wasn't long after she fell asleep that he found comfort in sleep without nightmares, too.


End file.
